


Nesting with Snakes

by DefinitelyNotScott



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Angst, Darius POV, F/M, Garen POV, Institute of War, Jarvan POV, Sibling Interaction, Wooing, culture clash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 13:42:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 15,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3175184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DefinitelyNotScott/pseuds/DefinitelyNotScott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Lux flirts with Darius. Sometimes Darius flirts back. Garen has a four point plan to deal with any situation, including this one. But when Noxians and Demacians are as different as birds and snakes, can they ever come to an accord?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bitter Cookie, Sugar Cookie: Darius and Sibling, Lux and Sibling

Darius was trying to figure out the reasoning behind his team's composition, when Lux asked him a direct question.

“What?” he said, hoping he could answer her quickly and be done.

“Did you ever make Snowdown cookies when you were young?”

He blinked, but the question did bring back a memory from when his parents were both still alive, the house warm and smelling delicious.

“Yes.” He replied. Draven was probably too young to remember.

“See!” said Lux, turning to Garen. “Even Darius made Snowdown cookies!”

Darius returned to his thoughts. Soraka or Lux would be mid, so Gnar was ADC?

Garen rolled his eyes. “I don't know why you're so bitter about this.”

Then he and Garen would duo top?

“Everybody else made Snowdown cookies. Even Darius. Even Katarina!”

Unless one of them was going to jungle? Garen jungling? He shook his head, dissatisfied.

“But not Talon,” said Garen.

“Talon doesn't count. He's not a real person, he's the idea of “assassin” come to life.”

Maybe Gnar was the jungler? But then who was ADC?

“Why didn't you ever make Snowdown cookies?” asked Soraka.

Garen and Lux both gave her blank looks, then said “Frivolity has no place in the Crownguard household,” in the exact same tone.

Arrested, Darius stared at the siblings while Soraka said, “Okay, that was creepy.”

Garen laughed and Lux shifted in place, swinging her baton. “What it really means is that neither of them wants to admit they can't cook,” she said.

Darius tried to shake off this second distraction. Maybe Lux and Soraka would duo bottom lane, with Gnar jungle, and top and mid for him and Garen?

“But they should have tried!” continued Lux. “Even if it was terrible we'd still have a treasured childhood memory.”

“You'll just have to do it with your children,” Darius muttered, not paying full attention.

The following silence had a weird quality, and he turned to find them all staring at him (even Gnar). Then Lux's smile turned on, and she _beamed_ at him. It felt like getting hit by her laser, and he had to exert himself not to take a step back.

“You're right, Darius. You're absolutely right. I'll just have to bake Snowdown cookies with _my_ children. That's perfect!”

“Uh, right,” he said, wishing he hadn't said anything.

“So, what?” said Garen, unamused. “Now you're going to get knocked up so you can bake _cookies_?”

“Of course not!” She grinned and punched her brother's arm. “I just feel so much less bitter now! I can bake cookies with _my_ children. That makes perfect sense! Thanks, Darius!”

“Uh, right,” he said again.

“Finally!” said Garen as the summoners started directing them to their positions. Garen top. Soraka mid. Gnar jungle. Lux and Darius... bot?

“They got the wrong brother.” He wanted to hit himself in the head with his axe.

She laughed her annoying laugh. “Oh, it won't be that bad. I'll set 'em up, you knock 'em down.”

He shook his head and sighed.

Later that week he answered the door of his suite to find a beribboned box with a note on top.

> Darius,
> 
> I know you wouldn't have wanted to give me a present at all, given the choice. But it was the best Snowdown gift I've gotten in years, so I didn't feel right not giving you something in return.
> 
> These are the first Snowdown cookies I've ever baked (ever!) so they might not be great, but I got Pantheon and Morgana to help, so they won't be terrible either.
> 
> I hope you enjoy them, and thanks again!
> 
> Lux

Darius stowed the note and opened the box. Indeed, it was filled with various types of Snowdown cookies.

Walking back in to the main room, he asked “Draven, do you remember making Snowdown cookies when we were young?”

Draven looked up. “How mother wanted us to wait for them to cool, but father would steal them for us right off the sheet?”

“I'm surprised you remember.”

“The burned hand does not forget.” Draven quoted the proverb.

Darius snorted. “Or the burned mouth?”

“Nope,” Draven said with a grin. “What brought that to mind?”

Darius held up the box, tilted to show the contents.

“Ah! No doubt one of Draven's many fans has made him Snowdown cookies with her own two hands!”

“No doubt,” said Darius, note crinkling in his pocket. He put the box down on the side table, and watched Draven select a handful. There were times when he longed for another ( _any_ other) suitemate, or even one of the cramped single rooms the Institute provided. But there were also times, and Snowdown was one of them, when he was glad to have Draven around. Even if he did occasionally use him to test for poisons.

After a few minutes, he too selected some cookies. They were delicious.


	2. How Rumors Get Started: Darius and Sibling, Lux and sibling

Lux did an about face from her position walking beside Garen and stalked back two steps as Twisted Fate ambled forward one. He attempted to sidestep her but she moved with him, stepping into his personal space and glaring up into the face beneath the hat.

“That was completely uncalled for! You shouldn't say something like that to Draven, even in jest.” She punctuated each sentence by jabbing a finger into his chest.

Surprised, Draven and Darius stopped to look at each other. Draven raised an eyebrow. Darius gave an infinitesimal shrug.

Twisted Fate put his hands palm out at shoulder height. “Whoa there little lady. Don't get your panties in a twist.” He smirked at the last word, raising his eyebrows in an invitation to be amused. “It was just a joke, and neither of these big fellahs needs a little woman like you riding to his rescue.”

She declined his invitation with a disdainful look, and shot back “Of course _they_ don't. But I might not _be_ there when you do it to someone who _does_. Jokes about the death of a family member are _not_ acceptable. You owe Draven an apology, and probably Darius too.” She stood blocking his path, fists on her hips, probably waiting on the aforementioned apology.

“Well, sor-ry, gents,” he said with a roll of his eyes before teleporting away.

Lux sniffed out a “Hmph!” and spun to catch up with the waiting Garen. He resumed walking, and even his relaxed pace forced her to trot to keep up. The blood brothers shrugged at the conclusion of the exchange, and paused to let the Demacians get further along before following.

“What are you going to do if that gets distorted like last time?” Garen asked.

“Well,” she said, stopping again, perforce stopping the other three. “If _they're_ going to be like _that_ , then _I'm_ going to be all...” Here she slapped her hands to her cheeks, elbows out wide, leaning forward in an exaggerated pose of surprised interest. “Ooh! I never _thought_ about what a _fine figure_ of a man Darius is! You're right! I should totally _do_ that! Tra-la!” On this last, she turned to head for Darius, arms spread as if to embrace, a ridiculous grin on her face.

Darius, never a man to pass opportunity by, dropped to one knee and opened his own arms in welcome. Lux's own grin widened, and with a glad cry of “Darling!” she was prevented from flinging herself into his outstretched arms by Garen's restraining hand on her collar.

“See?” said Garen. “This is why weird rumors get started about you.”

“Nooo...” Lux said, looking up at him with pity. “Weird rumors get started about me because people are _inveterate gossips_.” Garen gave a gusty sigh.

Darius grumbled “I call pass interference,” as he rose. Draven laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. Ignoring the polite fiction that they weren't actually interacting, Draven spoke. “Tell us about “Last Time”. Draven is curious.”

Garen sighed again, running his fingers through his hair and glancing up and down the hallway.

Lux looked at Draven and said, “Last time the joke,” she mimed quotation marks around the word. “was “Good thing that Garen Crownguard is going to get his fool self killed before he reaches marriageable age, otherwise who knows _what_ he'd bring home!” Who wouldn't be mad to hear that? It's, like, a double insult.” Darius snorted at Garen's continued avoidance of eye-contact. “And then people were all “There's a girl who looooves her brother! Wink-wink, nudge-nudge.” Like that guy who's been writing stories about you two.”

Draven growled, and Darius' hand tightened on the haft of his axe. “If I ever find out who that _is_...” Darius said, menace clear in his voice.

“I know, right?” said Lux.

“ _Any_ way,” interrupted Garen, taking Lux by the elbow. “We have another match.”

“Nothing like free week to make you feel popular, huh?” Lux said, smiling at Garen.

Without ceremony the two pairs of siblings parted ways.


	3. Conception: Darius and Sibling, Lux and Sibling

Darius was on his way to meet Draven for lunch when up ahead, around the corner he heard Lux's disbelieving voice call Garen's name. He slowed his pace to ascertain what sort of situation he was about to walk in on.

“... I can't believe you told him I was _maternal_! Now he won't stop talking to me about babies and stuff!”

Routine sibling disagreement. He rolled his eyes and pressed on.

“But the nephews love you!” Garen protested as Darius rounded the corner into the atrium. “And you want babies, right?” Garen's eyebrows pinched, worried.

Darius saw Draven approaching from the far end of another corridor. He raised a hand in acknowledgement and stood back from the Crownguards to wait.

“Maybe someday. But I hope you understand if I'm not super anxious to try and fit the birthright of my ancestors,” Here she grabbed Garen by the shoulders, making him glance side-to-side in confusion. “Through _this_.” And she grabbed her own hips.

Darius couldn't help it. He laughed, slapping a hand over his mouth a second too late. Now both Crownguards were looking at him. He rubbed his chin, like maybe that's what his hand was there for, instead of failing to hold something in.

“Something to _contribute_ , Darius?” Lux asked, eyes narrow and hard, voice arch.

Now what? He groped around the corners of his mind for something to say. “You could always, ah, adopt. Plenty of orphans, you know.”

Her eyes softened, going wide and dewy. Damn it, that was _not_ a pity play. He gritted his teeth, but she only said, “Very sensible. Of course, that only works with a guy who isn't swooning over his bloodline.” Right. Nobles.

“We could add it to the list?” Garen didn't sound enthusiastic.

“Bluh. Let's not. I think “guy who has a war-wound that makes him open to adoption” is kind of scarily specific, don't you?”

_This_ time Darius managed to hold in his amusement.

Then she turned on Garen, who straightened up and put his hands palm-out defensively. “As for the _nephews_ ,” she said, giving Garen the same look she had given Darius moments before. “I cannot believe you didn't recognize my very best Sergeant Iverson impression!”

Her posture changed. She stuck her thumbs in where a belt would be, pinning her baton to her side with one elbow, the other stuck out carelessly. One heel kicked out to dig at the floor, and her face turned down on a look of disgust. Her vowels loosened and slowed down. “Jus' keep 'em fed an' keep 'em busy M'lady. If command did more o' _that_?” She _spat_ on the floor, startling Darius. “We'd have Noxus sorted in, what? Three months?”

Darius bristled.

She looked up at him, suddenly herself again. “Sorry. It's what he _says_.”

He couldn't untwist the disapproval from his body. He didn't really _want_ to. But it was an apology, so he did manage to say, “It's good advice for child-rearing too.”

Lux's eyes lit up. “And I can't do better than to listen to Mama Darius! After all, look at the _magnificent specimen_ he turned out!” She gestured to Draven, finally arriving at the atrium. Garen snorted.

Draven preened under the compliment, of course, throwing his chest out and smoothing his hair back with one hand. “The glorious Draaaven certainly stands as a testament to Darius' excellent...” He met Darius' eyes and smirked. “... _maternal_ qualities.”

Darius flipped him off, but otherwise didn't respond. Draven loved responses. They were a type of attention.

“Yeah,” said Lux. “I'm going to be the dad. Do all the fun stuff and sit back to watch the day-to-day business. Right, Mama Darius?” She shot him a grin

If he didn't run with this Draven would, and gods help him then. “You never even help me in the kitchen,” he accused, deadpan.

“Well, I would if you wore that pretty apron.” Her eyes glowed with mischief.

“I get even less done when I _do_.” He felt a grin starting to crease his face. That girl was a menace. _How_ had this seemed like a good idea?

“Can I help it if I see you in it and just want to put you up on the counter and...”

“Lux!” Garen interjected, obviously unable to contain himself any longer.

Darius flicked a glance at him when he said, “Not in front of the children, love!”

Garen, face flushed, glared at him. And with Lux broken out in helpless laughter, Darius was pretty sure that left him victorious on all fronts. Time to quit while they were ahead.

“Come on, Draven.” He beckoned to his brother and they stepped out into the sun-baked courtyard. Draven stroked one of his mustachios and gave Darius a look of speculation.

Darius' shoulders tightened slightly. “What?”

At Draven's grin he knew he shouldn't have asked. “It's simply been a long time since I've seen you flirting with anyone.”

Darius was feeling crabby now. “I wasn't flirting!” Draven looked at him, eyebrows raised. “...much.”

Draven reached out to grip his shoulder and walked that way a few paces before letting go. Darius thought the topic had been dropped when Draven said, “I might believe you if it was the _first_ time.” Then laughed as Darius growled and swiped at him.


	4. Confidante: Jarvan and Garen

Jarvan heard a knock and looked up from his desk to see Garen letting himself in. “Come right in.” He gave Garen a pointed look.

Garen dropped into one of the chairs on the other side of the desk, wiggling to get himself settled against the upholstery. Then he put his feet up on Jarvan's desk. Jarvan switched the pointed look to the offending extremities, but Garen's only concession was to cross his ankles, leaving a single boot in contact with the desk.

Jarvan sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I'll never know how you can be so formal in public and so casual in private.”

“Keeps me sane.” Garen grinned.

“Most people don't consider carving their image into two separate and distinct personalities particularly _sane_ ,” Jarvan muttered. Garen laughed.

“I have work to do.” He gestured at the desk with revulsion. What he wouldn't give to be doing something _active_ , like during the war when he would be out piercing Noxians through their black hearts.

Garen laced his fingers together behind his head and raised an eyebrow.

“I have _work_ to do,” he repeated, refusing to believe Garen could read his mind.

Garen dropped the eyebrow. “Yeah, but you were about to get a crick in your neck. I time these interruptions very carefully.”

Jarvan wouldn't put it past him. He caught himself leaning his head side-to-side, stretching his neck muscles. There wasn't a crick. Yet. Garen was grinning at him again. He sighed.

“Fine!” He leaned back in his own chair, kicking his feet out and flexing his shoulders to try and loosen them. “What is it?”

“Well...” Garen bounced his head back against his hands a few times. “That's where I'm not sure.”

“Huh.” Jarvan was intrigued. He waved a hand for Garen to continue.

“So... earlier today Lux was flirting with Darius.”

Jarvan snorted in derision. “Your sister will flirt with anything that flirts back.”

“That's kind of the point. He _was_ flirting back. For him it was probably heavy-duty flirting.”

Jarvan blinked. “You're telling me... Darius has a _thing_... for your sister? And we should... make use of it?”

Garen flashed a smile before saying, “I've got a whole outline for how we should “make use of it.””

“Go on then.” Jarvan rubbed his chin, trying to think past the automatic revulsion of letting a Noxian anywhere _near_ Lux.

Garen held up a finger. “Part the first, get dad to grant Darius permission to court Lux. This is the part where I need your help, he won't do it for anyone less, and even with you we'll need to be persuasive.

Jarvan gave a noncommittal grunt.

“Part the second,” He raised another finger to join the first. “Get Lux settled in a mutual appreciation type marriage.”

Jarvan felt a surge of anger that was close to nausea. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He sat back up to lean forward over the desk. “Are you trying to to tell me the only daughter of House Crownguard can't do better than a fucking _Noxian_?”

Garen gave him a flat look, mouth pressed into a line. “Do you think we haven't been _trying_?” He dropped the first hand, fingers still raised, and lifted the other to pop up fingers as he listed each problem group. “There's the ones who don't want her because she's smarter or more powerful than they are.”

“Seriously?”

Garen rolled his eyes. “Believe me, they're acceptable losses from my vantage too, but it _narrows the available pool_.” He waited a moment to make sure Jarvan wasn't about to interrupt again.

“The ones who don't want to deal with the spotlight from her being a champion. Half of her fans are going to hate whoever she marries _automatically_ , so... sort of understandable. The ones who won't put up with an extremely questionable sense of humor. The ones who can't handle concentrated doses of perky optimism or find her laugh too annoying to endure for a lifetime.”

It was Jarvan's turn to roll his eyes. “If we can do it...”

“I know! You'd think..” They shared a look before Garen shook his head. “ _Any_ way.” He resumed listing. “The ones who don't want to become targets for her (and our) enemies. And finally,” Having run out of fingers he curled them back in, making a fist. “ _Finally_ ,” Garen's voice was low and dangerous. Jarvan raised his eyebrows. What was _this_ about? “There's the ones who think she's too Noxian after her time there.”

There was a short silence Garen didn't seem anxious to fill, while Jarvan processed this statement. At last Jarvan asked, “And these _are_ , by and large, young men who have done less for Demacia with their _entire lives_ than she has done in one week, correct?”

“The irony is not lost on us,” Garen said. Jarvan waited, watching Garen's face. “She... shows them the Noxian version of herself.” Jarvan felt the dawn of understanding. “I think some part of them sees that and says “That is a _snake_ , and I am a _bird_ ,” and they just can't do it anymore.” Garen let out a trickle of breath. “But it's not like she can't show them. Truth in advertising, right? Would you want to find out that kind of thing _after_ the wedding?”

Jarvan wasn't going to answer a rhetorical question, but... “A _Noxian_?” he asked, voice plaintive

Garen switched from grim to peevish. “Will you let me get more than two points in to my outline?”

Jarvan waved a hand. “Fine, fine.”

“Part the third,” He gave Jarvan a questioning look. Jarvan folded his hands and kept his mouth shut. Garen continued, “Part the third, make use of the spy we now have _embedded_ in the Noxian hierarchy.”

Jarvan raised a hand. Garen rolled his eyes. “I _know_ she'll be under heavy suspicion at first, but I think we both know she's up to the task.” Jarvan didn't lower his hand. “And _yes_ , she won't want to be disloyal to her husband by spying on _him_ , but we won't ask her to do that.” Jarvan raised his eyebrows in query. Garen smirked. “No, we ask her to spy on his _enemies_... and his friends. _You_ know.”

Now Jarvan did lower his hand, gazing into the middle distance and stroking his chin in thought.

“And we keep her on the leash by offering a stay of execution for her husband when Noxus falls. Maybe one for Draven too. Sibling solidarity an' all that. But make it sound iffy, like she really has to work for the second.”

Jarvan snorted. “We can't just have former Noxian generals wandering around, Garen.”

“I said “stay of execution” not “blanket pardon”. I have a section of the Crownguard dungeons all picked out to renovate as a brother-in-law suite.” Garen grinned, leaning back with his hands behind his head again. “Hell, he'd probably hate that worse than an execution.”

“You are a vicious bastard, Garen Crownguard.”

“Don't tell the Noxians. They think I'm a cupcake.”

Jarvan snorted again. He opened his mouth, but Garen swung his feet off the desk and held his hand up, thumb down, fingers raised. “Part _the fourth_ ,” Jarvan closed his mouth on the baked goods analogy he had been about to voice. “We play up Darius' commoner status so that if, say, somebody wanted to marry a commoner who was _not_ a Noxian it would sound like a reasonable alternative.”

“Pandering to your audience there a little bit?”

Garen held up both hands in a rueful shrug, a tiny smile playing on his lips.

Jarvan rested his chin on his fist. “Or, say, if somebody wanted to marry a Noxian who _was_ a noble?”

Opening his eyes wide in innocence, Garen said, “This is my shifty look.”

Grabbing a spare pen off the desk to throw at him, Jarvan shook his head. “I know it is, you ass!”

Arm up to shield himself from further projectiles, Garen only grinned at Jarvan's exasperation. “You love me.”

“According to the rumors, yes, yes I do.”

Garen collapsed back in his chair, hands over his face. “Gods save us from summoners!”


	5. Commiseration: Garen and Lux

Garen closed the door behind himself before calling out, “Lux?”

“Out here!”

He couldn't really see her through the white gauze curtains, billowing in the draft from the open door, but the sound had come from the balcony.

She was half-seated on the railing, swinging one foot and looking out at the city over her shoulder. She had a partially eaten apple in one hand.

“Ugh. Raw fruit? What are you? A squirrel?”

She looked at him and smiled. “ _You_ eat raw fruit.”

“In the _field_. Not when I have _civilized_ options.”

Her smile broadened, crinkling the edges of her eyes. She really did have the most beautiful smile. He felt a surge of brotherly protectiveness and affection.

“Did you really come by to criticize my snack choices?”

“Nah.” He put his hands on her shoulders and gave her a peck on the forehead. “That's just bonus. I'm here to let you know I'm about to give another guy the go-ahead.”

He smiled down at her, and she smiled up at him, and her eyes were bright and happy right up until the brightness spilled over, becoming tears. Only then did her smile start to waver, and he could only assume it disappeared, since she was now sobbing into the front of his shirt. Oh, crap. Crap, crap, crap. Lux _hated_ to cry. She only cried when she thought it was the best way to make a necessary point.

“Lux?” And now he had to pretend she couldn't turn them on and off like a faucet. He put his arms around her, because that was what you did, right?

“I'm sorry,” she sobbed. “I'm sorry!”

“Hey, whoa, no. You don't have to be sorry.” He patted her back with one hand. He always felt so big and useless in these situations. On one level it was staged, but on another she was calling for help and trying to be _normal_ about it. Having your sister be a spy was so _weird_. “You, uh, you've obviously been doing that thing. That thing where you don't tell us something is bothering you? So. Uh. You want to tell me? About it?”

She had choked back the sobs, he could hear her trying to sniff back the snot, and feel her rubbing the tears out of her eyes with her knuckles. Where did the apple go? He thought, somewhat nonsensically.

“I just...” Her voice was small and still raw and wobbly. “I just get tired of the rejection, you know?”

“It's not rejection,” his stupid mouth said before his stupid brain could stop it. Wow. Stupidest thing to come out of it on record.

“Oh, it's _not_?” She immediately called him on it. “So being told, _again_ and _again_ that you're not _good_ enough,” She glared up at him, her lips twisted into a bitter shape. “Not _Demacian_ enough...” She looked away and he hugged her tighter. “That's not rejection?”

He felt his jaw clench, and made a mental note to share some words with a few of her old unit-mates. Specifically, the words “made Lux cry” and “list of names”.

“No, it's _not_ ,” he said firmly. “That's just idiocy.”

She laughed a little jagged noise into his chest. “Liar.”

“It's no more a lie than when you told me girls flirting with me because their family told them to was idiocy.”

She turned her face to peek up at him with one eye. “Huh.”

“If they had thoughts in their head to think with they would notice the logical inconsistency. Skills you used _for_ Demacia make you _less_ Demacian?” He cleared the emotion from his throat with a scoffing noise.

“It doesn't really bother me,” she told his shirt. He squeezed her tight again. “Only right before and right after. It's fine otherwise.” He noticed she didn't say “I'm fine.”

“Well, uh, this is going to sound like a vote of no confidence, but I honestly wasn't thinking that when I arranged things...” He cleared his throat. “For this guy not being Demacian enough definitely won't be a problem.”

She looked up at him, confused. The tear-stains on her face were already beginning to dry. “Did daddy actually follow through on looking into an Ionian connection?”

“Um. No. This was all me.” He turned to shepherd her inside. His foot connected with the forgotten apple, sending it spinning. “And, um, Jarvan. I kind of went over dad's head.”

She looked back at him, eyebrows quirked in thought. He saw her eyes widen a fraction, and felt her back stiffen against his hand. “A Noxian?” It cut right through him, despair and betrayal and resignation, all in two words.

“It wasn't like that!” He tried to defend himself. “I saw you and Darius flirting and I thought... Maybe we could do something for Demacia _and_ for you.”

She blinked at him, face expressionless.

“I _do_ want you to be happy.” He ran a hand through his hair before sitting down on one of the couches. She followed suit, taking the seat opposite him. He stretched his arms out along the back, but she perched on the edge, hands on her knees. She still hadn't said anything. He tapped his fingers on the back of the couch. Left hand, right hand, left hand.

“So... It's Darius?” She sounded... cautious, but not hurt.

Relief made him sigh, though for all he knew it was premature. “Yeah. I thought... He seemed to like you, and you were flirting with him... You know you can say no, right? Dad made it a condition. Anytime, you can nix it. I think he's hoping you will.”

A smile appeared and disappeared almost before he saw it. “He probably is. The Summer of Blood carried off more than a few of our relatives.”

“Is that... going to be a problem?”

“No more than the Noxians we've killed.” Her face was getting more mobile, but she still sat stiffly on the edge of her seat. “I never even thought of Darius... But he's... I guess I... and he...” She suddenly threw herself back against the cushions. Fists drumming on the seat by her legs, she stared up at the ceiling. “It won't even matter. You said Jarvan? That means you'll want me to spy. I can't do that. I can't marry a man _intending_ to betray him.”

“Nobody's asking you to.”

Her fists stilled and she looked at him without raising her head.

“You won't mind spying on his _enemies_ will you?”

Her lips quirked up into an impish smile. “And maybe his friends?”

“Well, _yeah_.” He grinned back at her. He felt more confident in his earlier relief.

“Telling _him_ I'm a spy will be different.” Her voice was filled with conjecture.

“Are you going to tell him about your current mission?”

“I'm going to tell him about being a spy. And I'll let him know I was promised I'd never have to spy on _him_. He's not an idiot. He'll figure it out.”

Garen would like to think that Darius _was_ an idiot. But he knew the sheer joy of being underestimated too well to think it only because he wanted to.

“So.” He put his feet up on the low table between the couches. Lux curled her legs up underneath her. “As long as we're talking about what to tell Darius... I was hoping to get your input on how we're going to break the news. Should I be angry about my orders from above? Or maybe you want to be the angry one? Play hard to get? I could be all eager to push you together to please my superiors and you could fight it tooth and nail.”

“No.” She looked thoughtful, attention focused inward. “I think we need to go with shades of grey. He won't pursue me if I'm violently rejecting him. That's not his sort of challenge. But if I'm too eager it will set off his natural paranoia. The same for you. I think I'll be hesitant, but willing to be persuaded. You should be... uncaring?”

Garen raised a hand up to scratch his chin. “Like... I don't care because I don't think he can do it?”

“Ooh. I meant more like being insensitive and blunt, but that's a good idea. He'll want to prove you wrong. Part of the reason he flirts with me is to annoy you.”

“But not the whole reason,” he reminded her.

“I hadn't thought about it before now. In retrospect...” She shook her head. “I wasn't even thinking of him as an option. I bet he doesn't either.”

“Yeah... How are we going to explain it anyway?”

She gave him a fond, but exasperated look. “Your plan isn't very well thought out. How about the Institute pushing for improved Demacian-Noxian relations? You don't like it, but you're not worried because you don't think he can actually win me?”

“Huh. We _could_ use it as a bone to throw the Institute. Keep 'em off our backs a while...” It was Garen's turn to tip his head back and stare at the ceiling. “I think I can play it that way. I _don't_ really like it.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him when he turned his attention back to her.

“Well, when you flirt with him you're smiling and having a good time, and he is too. So I started thinking of ways to make him useful, but that doesn't mean I don't wish it was some nice Demacian boy!”

“The donkey calls the pig “long-ears!”” she murmured, looking out the balcony doors through the sheer white fabric.

“That's different,” he grouched, crossing his arms.

“Oh? You think I don't realize you're using me to set a precedent?”

“I'm a general. I'm supposed to have more than one objective in mind when I take action,” he said, loftily.

“Or, “Why attack the guy in front of you, who's ready, when you can cut through the fellow next to him to get at him?””

He put his arms back up on the couch and grinned at her. “Naw. Couldn't be.”

She shook her finger at him playfully. “ _You_ are a sneaky strategist masquerading as a borderline berserker.”

His grin widened. “Who, me? I'm a cupcake!”

She snorted. “Only if Lulu gets a hold of you.” She put her feet on the floor and scooted off the couch to stand up. “I'll get drinks and we can start hashing out specifics.”

Garen smiled and shook his head to himself. If only they could plot together against Demacians! Unfortunately, that would be underhanded. He smiled his thanks when she handed him a glass, and couldn't help grinning into his drink as she settled down. Her beautiful smile was back and her eyes were intent. Darius didn't have a chance.


	6. Commission: Darius and Garen (also, Draven)

The shade from a large oak tree and the general cooling properties of the surrounding garden made the afternoon sun bearable. Darius and Draven had staked out a stone table in a corner to support a napkin-wrapped wedge of cheese and a bowl of crackers.

Since neither of them had chosen to sit facing a wall they both saw Garen's approach. They were still both surprised when he sat down across from them.

“Got something for you.” He tossed a stamped, sealed, and beribboned envelope at Darius. Then he put his elbow on the table and dropped his chin into his hand before reaching for the crackers.

Draven's eyes narrowed, and Darius swiftly kicked him, giving a minute shake of his head when Draven turned indignant eyes his way. They didn't have to guard every scrap of food any more, and Darius thought he might have questions about this official-looking document. It wasn't as if he was expecting anything from the Demacians. He broke the seals and tried to decipher the flourish-laden script and overly-formal language.

Garen crunched his way through the remains of their small repast, either aware he would have questions to answer, or purposefully being a pest. Darius was thankful Draven seemed to realize he needed his concentration. Possibly this unusual sensitivity was due to having stolen a peek over Darius' shoulder. Draven managed to hold himself in check, shifting in his seat occasionally, glowering at their “guest”, and repeatedly closing his mouth with a snap almost as soon as he opened it.

Darius threw the offending page down on the table, wishing a single sheet could be made to land with more force. “What the hell is this?”

Sensing the end of a truce, Draven reached to rescue the food from Garen's outstretched hand. Garen pulled the offending appendage back before giving Darius a disgusted look.

“It's permission to pay court to Lux.” His tone added a silent insult to the end of the sentence.

“Wh _at_?” Draven snatched up the “permission” in question and started poring over it. Darius wished him luck.

He placed his forearm on the table and leaned forward, trying his best to loom from a seated position. “And that might make sense if I had ever _asked_ for it.”

Unmoved by this argument, Garen shrugged, not even lifting his chin from his hand. “Institute wants us to make nice with you guys, we're making nice.”

Garen's casual attitude was really throwing him off. “Because you really want me to marry your sister.”

Now Garen grinned. “Nobody's caught her yet. No offense, but I doubt that honor's going to go to a _Noxian_.” He sat up and stretched his arms over his head. “But it's a nice gesture, right? Gives you a chance with a noblewoman,” He smirked, letting Darius know exactly what “chance” he thought there was for success. “Makes us look good, trying to bring the two countries together.”

Draven slapped the paper down, pinning it to the table with his hand. “You are underestimating Darius' wooing potential! Admittedly, he's no Draaaaaven, but still, he's the next best thing.” Draven leveled a finger at Garen. “Your sister will be throwing herself at his feet before you know it!”

Darius felt the familiar mix of exasperation and pride from Draven's attempt to defend him. “That's assuming I want her to begin with.”

Draven spared him a surprised glance before recovering to say, “Yeah!”

“Well, as long as you let them know I delivered it, I can take it back right now.” Garen reached for the paper.

Darius planted his hand on top of it. “And have you Demacians whining to the Institute about how we rudely rejected your oh-so-generous offer? No. I don't have to want a woman to woo her.” He met Garen's eyes evenly, grim smile on his lips. This ignorant puppy deserved a lesson and, considering the stakes, Darius was going to enjoy giving it.

Garen rolled his eyes. “Fine. Lux receives visitors in the afternoon.” He levered himself up and gave a careless wave over his shoulder. “Guess we'll see you tomorrow.”

The second Garen turned his back Draven tugged the paper back to look at it again.

Darius waited for Garen to turn a corner before observing, “That sounds disturbingly like there's some standard _procedure_ they expect me to follow.”

“Demacians!” Draven shook his head. “Leave it to them to make wooing a _chore_.” He tilted the paper toward Darius, tapping something in the third paragraph. “Is this even a word?”

“Probably,” Darius said, attention elsewhere.

Draven sighed, shaking his head again.

Once having determined the shortest distance between two points, Darius stood up, reaching over to pluck the beleaguered sheet from Draven's hands. Draven looked up from the empty space where it had been, startled. “Where are _you_ going?”

“Wooing,” Darius replied, carefully returning it to the envelope before tucking it away.

Draven grinned, crossing his arms on the table. “Stealing a march on them?”

“Love is a battlefield,” Darius said, face serious, then turned to leave. Hearing Draven's laugh behind him, he permitted himself a small smile.


	7. Consultation: Darius and Lux

It didn't take Darius long to check the match schedule and choose the best opportunity to catch Lux alone. He almost missed her, calling out right before she turned into a larger, more populated corridor. She turned, and after a regretful glance over her shoulder, started walking toward him. Her steps were soft with trepidation, but he wasn't sure what kind. Being waylaid by any Noxian might cause it, or it could be associated with their new shared status.

“Did you need something, Darius?” Her hands shifted on her baton.

“Do you know about this?” He held up the envelope between them.

“Ah...” She looked down. “Garen told me.”

He waited a moment to see if she had further comment, but she only stood there, looking down and twirling her baton. “Your brother failed to provide any useful instruction on how I'm expected to follow through, other than letting me know you take visitors in the afternoons, and what am I supposed to _do_ with that information?”

“Oh!” She looked up at his aggrieved tone, blue eyes wide, but immediately looked down again. “Usually, uh, the suitor...” Here she blushed. “...will come spend an hour with his, the object of his interest, to... converse and, and pass the time. That's why it's called “paying court” because you pay with your time like when you go to the king's court for...”

“Of course you would know the origin of the phrase,” he said to cut off her stream of nervous babble.

She peeked up at him from under her lashes. He shifted to lean his shoulder against the wall. He hoped she would calm down and relax if he wasn't looming over her. He smiled before raising an eyebrow, not sure if she would even see. “That's it?”

“Well, you can arrange to go on an outing, for a change of scenery, or to attend a specific entertainment. But that's basically the same, just... a different venue.” She kicked at the floor with one heel, taking brief looks up at him and then back down.

“Is there a dress code?”

“Nnn...Oh! Sort of? You dress according to the impression you want to give. Uniform for military service, rich garments for wealth, fashion for...” She ran her eyes over him so quickly he blinked, not quite believing what he saw. “...physical appearance... and so on.”

She shifted her baton from hand to hand, and while she wasn't quite looking _at_ him, she wasn't looking at the floor either. He felt that progress had been made. “Anything else I should know?”

“Not that I...” She paused for a moment, head cocked, staring into space. “...can think of?” She blinked, and looked him full in the face before dropping her eyes again.

“Let me know if that changes,” he said, then nodded and straightened to go. “See you tomorrow afternoon.”

“I'll look forward to it.” Her faint voice made it sound more like set response than genuine expression.

Hearing only the sound of his own footfalls, he supposed she must be watching his departure. When he took the first turn in his route he saw the flare of her skirt as she moved from the corner of his eye, and at last her hurried footsteps sped her on her way.

She had given him some things to think about, but first he really ought to report to Swain. He heaved a sigh and started trying to frame the most ridiculous report he would ever give in his entire military career. At least he _hoped_ it was the most ridiculous. His mind boggled momentarily, trying to come up with something to top the current situation, before doggedly returning to its original task.


	8. Confrontation: Darius and Swain

Swain limped back and forth in front of the window. Darius stood at rest, waiting to see what the Master Tactician would say. Swain stopped, facing the window. Darius wondered if he was looking out into the distance, or using the reflective surface to observe the room (and Darius) behind him. The raven shifted on her perch, beak striking out to peck at something in her tray, bringing up a bloody morsel.

“The Demacians are growing subtle. If you fail, we're a mockery. If you bring her to the altar but leave her waiting, they drum up sympathy for themselves. If you take her to wife, we have a spy in our midst.” He turned to stump over to the raven, reaching out to scratch softly at the back of her neck. “I don't suppose you'd be open to rapidly becoming a widower?”

He caught the gleam of Swain's eyes when they flicked his direction. “If I'm going to the trouble of winning myself a wife I'd like to enjoy the fruits of my labor.”

“I thought as much.” He stroked a finger down the raven's back before continuing. “And if I ask you to fail, as the best option?”

“I was looking forward to teaching Garen a lesson, but...” He shrugged.

“Hmph. Don't gamble what you don't want to lose?”

“Something like that.”

“Garen can only benefit from a trend toward Demacian-Noxian weddings though.”

Darius frowned. “I hadn't thought of that. Would he really throw his precious sister to the wolves to further that end?”

“No. They've convinced him it's best for Demacia, if he even suspects there's risk of a wedding.”

“He doesn't.” Behind his back, Darius clenched his fists.

Swain glanced his way again. “I see why you're eager to give him a lesson he won't forget.”

Darius growled. It was an agreement of sorts.

Swain offered his wrist to the raven, who hopped over from her perch with a flap of glossy wings. “Well... I give you my blessing then. Xin Zhao may have convinced them it's for the best, but it will eat at young Jarvan's gizzard if he actually has to offer up their Lady of Luminosity on the altar.”

Darius quirked one eyebrow up. “Like a virgin sacrifice?”

Swain's level gaze met his. “Very like.”

They shared a smile, but neither man looked particularly amused.

After Swain dismissed him, he returned to the suite he shared with Draven. He had a match later, and he wanted to deposit the envelope with its treacherous contents somewhere safe first.

Draven was in the main area, obsessively polishing his axes into auxiliary mirrors. He looked up at Darius' entrance. There was an expectant pause.

“Well?” Draven finally broke the silence as Darius approached the door to his room.

Darius swung around, a serious look on his face. “I have my orders.”

When he didn't continue, Draven made an impatient sound.

“To wed and win Demacia's Lady of Luminosity away from them.”

Draven gave a satisfied “Hah!” sounding very much like his older brother, and returned to his polishing.

“Were you done looking at this?” Darius tapped the envelope with one finger.

Draven glanced up and back down. “Mm. I got the gist.”

“Was that a “Yes?””

Draven met his stare with a roll of his eyes. “ _Yes_.”

“Just checking.”

Draven grunted, not looking up.

In his room, Darius sat down at his desk. He opened a drawer filled with correspondence. Unerringly, he plucked a sheet, folded into quarters, from amongst the surrounding dispatches and accumulated letters.

The paper was starting to fray along its creases. Even before opening it he could almost taste the sugar and butter flavor of Snowdown on his tongue. Eyes speeding over the familiar words, he swiped his thumb over the signature before folding it back up to slide into the stamped and beribboned envelope.

“For luck,” he justified himself to the empty air.

Then he tucked the whole thing in with “Current Operations: Demacia” and stood to ready himself for the upcoming match.


	9. Courtship: Darius and Lux

Darius felt somewhat foolish wearing his Woad King costume for an occasion other than a League match, but the look on the face of the underling who opened the door was worth it. He gave a toothy grin.

“I'm here to visit the Lady of Luminosity.” Her full name had felt awkward in his mouth, and asking for “Lux” too casual, so he had opted for her champion title.

The underling swallowed visibly before opening the door wide. “This way, General Darius.”

The room where Lux was waiting was very... Demacian. Everything looked fragile, or at least breakable, and there were unnecessary oddments and accessories to be taken into account as well.

Her first timid glance his direction when he was announced turned into a long stare when she caught sight of his outlandish attire. He smiled and used the time to cross the room and seat himself as close as possible while still securing a seat that was unlikely to break.

“Would you like to know what impression this...” He gestured to himself. “...is supposed to give?”

She met his eyes and one of her wicked little smiles peeped out before she looked down. “I really, really do,” she said in the voice of one making a terrible confession.

There was a rustle of fabric from the woman in the corner who was doubtless supposed to be their chaperon, but Darius ignored her.

“Well, I'm not a noble, and you're not a general, but we're both champions. And if we eliminate my military attire there's only to choose the best of the remainder.”

She looked up at him again, still smiling. “And you chose this one over “Lord Darius” because...?”

He stretched his legs out in front of himself, noting with amusement the way the movement drew her eyes to the hem of his needlessly short kilt. “I don't care much for titles or positions, but why bring you a lord when I can bring you a king?” It also gave him an excuse to run around essentially topless, but he didn't feel the need to elaborate. He had already seen her darting little glances at his exposed torso, and while he couldn't tell if she was looking at his scars or his muscles, he felt vindicated in his choice.

She smiled down at her hands, murmuring, “Why indeed?”

A servitor placed a tray in front of them, goggling at him until he caught her eye and she paled.

“Tea?” Lux asked.

“Please,” he gave the answer that was plainly expected of him.

After pouring, she handed him a tiny, delicate cup. He resisted the urge to crush it just because he could. And because it was useless. “Thank you.” He took a sip of tea.

“I'll be taking you out tomorrow. Wear something else. That dress looks like it was designed to be uncomfortable.”

The chaperon coughed in a way he surmised was intended to be disapproving.

“You're supposed to _ask_ these things, Darius,” Lux chided, and raised her eyes again to say, “Besides, don't you know the gentlemen appreciate it when we suffer for their pleasure?” Considering what he was wearing, and why, he only grunted. “I voted for one of my champion outfits, or even my dress uniform, after our last conversation. But I was informed that we didn't want you to... see this as a conflict.”

“I would have preferred your champion gear.” Although a Demacian dress uniform wasn't off the table, say, on their wedding night. He stifled a smirk, he would have to save that comment for when Garen was there to hear it, maybe Jarvan too. “And why should I _ask_? Do you intend to turn me down? I understood this...” He waved his hand to encompass both them and their surroundings. “Was a standing assignment.”

“Well, it is, but there's always the possibility of a change in schedule.” She flushed, a delicate pink flooding her cheeks. “And _no_ I wasn't planning to turn you down.” She seemed determined not to move her eyes from the hands clenched in her lap.

“You would tell me if there were a change.” He ignored the second half of her statement and waved the hand without a teacup in it back and forth. “But that's not the case, so we're going out tomorrow and you need to wear something...” He eyed the offending blue monstrosity. “...less horrible.”

She laughed without looking up, although her hands loosened. “Darius! I'll have you know that this is a very fine and fashionable dress. A dress _worthy_ of meeting with a high-ranking foreign dignitary.”

“Maybe in Demacia. It looks uncomfortable and impractical to me.”

“As if Katarina and Cassiopeia don't wear impractical things purely for looks,” was her tart reply.

“I'm not taking one of _them_ out somewhere tomorrow.”

“If you told me where we were going, that might help me decide what to wear.”

“It didn't sound like you decided much last time.”

“Hmph!” she sniffed, lifting her chin high to give him a haughty look.

A predatory grin stole across his face. “I'll give you a hint. We'll be doing something that might make us sweat, but it won't require armor.”

Indignant, she opened her mouth to reply, but he set his still-full teacup down on the saucer with a clack, and stood to go.

Her eyes widened. “But...”

“See you tomorrow,” he interrupted, and strode out of the room.

The next day, when Darius arrived to escort her, he was pleased to see her dressed in something more practical. On the strength of their outing being in a public area, he managed to steal her away without the chaperon as well. Buoyed by this auspicious beginning he led her through the city toward their destination with a spring in his step.

Once they arrived and went inside, Darius watched realization dawn on her face. “Well?” he asked, his voice mostly smug, but with an edge of anxiety that he didn't like, and tried to cover with movement. He strode forward and picked up a tear-shaped nest of wires with a handle. He thought it was called a “whisk”.

She stared around the bakery kitchen before following him to the counter. He selected a large metal bowl. “Where is everybody?” she asked.

He nodded over to the southern corner. “Franca is here to make sure we don't set any fires or cause any explosions, but otherwise it's just us. I rented them out.”

The young woman in question raised one lackadaisical hand in greeting before turning back to whatever clicking, whirring amusement from Piltover held her attention.

Lux continued looking around the room. Darius was pleased by her consternation. Using the rear entrance had been a good idea.

“Here.” He pulled the fruits of his hasty research out of his pocket, unfolding the papers before handing them to her. “Which recipe do you want to try first?”

She took them without looking at them. “Why are we here?

He smiled down at her puzzled face. “I hear nobody in your family knows how to bake. Don't you want the practice?”

“Oh.” She sounded... flat. He was starting to worry. This had been his best idea for an opening move.

She shuffled through the papers.

“You do read Noxian, don't you?”

“Yes.”

He put one hand on the counter, trying to look casual, leaning there at his ease.

She stopped, and held the stack up, pointing at the top recipe. “Are these the little crescents with the cinnamon filling?”

He wanted to tease her, ask if having a favorite Noxian cookie went against her loyalty oaths, but she still didn't look quite... right. So all he said was, “Yes.”

She nodded, a quick, choppy motion. “Let's make these.”

“Read off the ingredients and I'll get them down.”

She followed his suggestion and they soon had everything they needed, or, at least, everything on the list.

“One last thing,” he said, reaching for the unremarkable white pasteboard box he had left there earlier.

“That _was_ the last...” she began to protest before he opened the box to reveal the contents. She still looked puzzled until he pulled them both out, Demacian blue and good Noxian red. “Oh! Aprons!”

He smiled at her. “Admittedly, if you had worn a dress like the first I wouldn't have gotten them out, but since you managed to be sensible I ought to reward you.”

“Hah!” she said, grinning as she put hers on. Looking down, she touched the gold embroidered “Lux” on her chest. “Demacian blue and gold, I'm surprised.”

“Skilled gift-giving takes into account the tastes of the recipient.”

She smiled up at him. “I'm impressed.”

“That's the point,” he said.

Her lips took on the wicked little quirk he had come to recognize. “But the real question is... Is that your _pretty_ apron?”

He paused before remembering the conversation she was referencing. He barked a laugh. “What do _you_ think?” He ran a hand down the front with a grin.

“Needs more lace.”

“Do they _put_ lace on aprons?” He wrinkled his nose. “Ruffles I'll grant you, but lace?”

“It depends where you're shopping. I know some stores where you can get anything you want.”

“I didn't realize you would patronize _that_ sort of establishment.” He attempted to sound scandalized.

A pretty blush colored her cheeks. “Not _that_ kind of store.”

“But you _know_ about them,” he said, grinning.

“Talking doesn't bake cookies,” she said, turning up her nose and toward the counter. His grin got bigger, but he graciously allowed her to change the subject.

“So what do we do first?”

She looked at him, startled. “You don't know what to do either?”

“I don't have the recipe memorized.”

“Oh.” She relaxed, maybe too much.

He continued, “And it _has_ been a long time.”

“ _Oh_ ,” she said, anxiety returning to her voice.

“Don't worry, we have the recipe, and Franca is here to...”

“Right, right, prevent fires and explosions.” She continued to look dubious, as if she were picturing alternate disasters.

“That's why we're practicing, to get the mistakes out of our system.” He pointed to the recipe. “Step one?”

She smiled at him before looking down and beginning to read.

After the success of their first excursion, he continued to take her out: horseback riding, picnics, walks in the garden, a series of armor-smiths to look at “proper” breastplates. In fact, after the first visit he took her out every time, because he was _not_ sitting through another, single, minute of Demacian “courtship” if he could avoid it.

He didn't even count those outings as wooing. No, they were simple harrying tactics to keep her forces busy while he conducted the real assault elsewhere. Before and after matches, encounters in the halls, these were the moments when she had been easy in his presence before... before all this _nonsense_ got in the way. And so these were the times when he went a-wooing.

It was a frustratingly slow process. Things would be going along nicely and suddenly she would turn skittish. All the effort was making him wild with anticipation. There were times when he caught a glint in her eye and wondered if that wasn't her intention. But she really was afraid of _some_ thing. He might not be sure it was _him_ , but whatever it was kept her shying away at the most inconvenient times.

He stood kicking his heels at his vantage above one of the Institute's gardens, lying in wait at the top of some steps. Having expected her to cross quickly, he wondered if now was one of those times. She was stopped halfway through, by one of the fountains. Had she spotted him? No. Perhaps she was meeting someone; the fountain was a good landmark. Whoever it was wasn't here yet though, so Darius decided to make his way over, staying out of her line of sight.

When he arrived he wondered if he needed to have bothered. She was preoccupied, pacing back and forth in agitation, literally wringing her hands.

“What are you worrying about?”

At his question, she jumped, turning to face him with wide, startled eyes. “Darius?”

He sat down, trying to look nonthreatening, although it wasn't his best skill. “Well?”

She flushed. “Nothing!”

He snorted.

She resumed pacing and wringing her hands. “Everything!”

He laughed.

She threw him a disgruntled look without breaking stride.

“Come here.” He patted the empty space on the bench beside him. “Let me distract you from your troubles.”

At first she didn't stop, but he kept his hand on the bench and looked at her expectantly until she turned her steps his direction. He gave her a welcoming smile which she attempted to return.

But when she started to take a seat, he pulled her into his lap, waiting for the tipping point when going anywhere other than “down” would be extremely difficult. She tried to pull to the side, but his hands on her hips prevented it.

She looked up at him, startled. Her brows were drawn together and her lips were slightly parted as if she might have spoken if he hadn't kissed her. To his disappointment, he felt her stiffen.

How many outings had they _been_ on at this point? It was _long_ past time for kissing, even for a noblewoman, surely? When he noticed her arm was cocked back, as if for a slap, he almost dropped her out of his lap then and there. Had it been that way from the start?

But precisely _then_ , before he could finish pulling away, or even really start, the stiff lines of her body relaxed back into curves. He hesitated. Perhaps she had been startled?

He resumed the kiss, but left his hand on her knee, not moving it up along her thigh. She was tolerating his touch, but it felt like a near thing. Disgruntled, he wondered what she was thinking.

Slowly, she leaned into the contours of his arm and chest, like someone wading into cold water. Was it some strange Demacian formality that held her back, or distaste? He persevered, and at last she pressed her lips up into his kiss. Yes, he could work with this. The soft play of her willing lips was enchanting, well worth the wait.

He pulled her in closer with the arm already around her, and felt the tension still in her muscles. He brought his hand up to her shoulder from her knee, where it encountered the cold metal of her armor. She seemed more at ease with the new positioning, so he let his hand warm the metal before bringing his thumb past the edge to rub at her collarbone through a protective layer of leather.

Her eyes closed, blocking out the world of sight to concentrate on sensation. A triumphant smile broke the kiss, and he relocated to stamp a line of damp kisses down her jaw. He ran his fingers up her neck from the collarbone, causing a small tremor of tension, before he stroked her cheek with his thumb and then pushed her hair back behind her ear.  
He felt her swallow as he nuzzled her neck, licking and kissing and nibbling. She raised her free hand to his head, threading her fingers through his hair. She took a shaking breath and said, “I don't know why we thought you would even try to play by our rules.”

“Idiocy,” he agreed, licking a long line over her jugular. She stiffened again, her fingers tightening in his hair. He looked up to admire the angry line of her mouth and her flashing eyes. “I only needed to play your game long enough to get the pieces on the board.. Once the gate is open, the city will fall.”

“Did you seriously just compare me to a besieged city?” She tossed her head to dislodge his hand, leaning away from him. He moved it down to her waist, and began rubbing circles on the small of her back with the other.

“A _fine_ city, strategically placed, well supplied with resources, fortified for defense... one _worth_ capturing.” With each point he listed his smile widened and her eyes narrowed, until she pushed away from his chest, slithering off his lap with a sniff of disgust. He let her go, laughing softly.

“You're horrible.”

“Of course I am.” He stood. “But you forgot your troubles, didn't you?”

She gasped in indignation at his smug tone, but he turned to go before she could see his equally smug smile.

As he made his way out of the garden his path intersected with Garen, who was headed in the direction he was departing from.

Garen cocked his head, eyebrows meeting in speculation as they passed. “What are _you_ grinning about?”

“If I tell you all the answers, how will you ever learn the lesson?”

Garen's paused, but Darius kept walking, and he didn't follow.


	10. Conference: Garen and Lux

Garen's last match ran late, but he finally arrived at the fountain where Lux had asked to meet him. She was staring at the water, watching it burble and fall. Her fingers worked up and down on the shaft of her baton, tapping to some unheard rhythm.

“Hey,” he said, throwing himself onto one of the benches. Once he saw her fingers twitch for a familiar privacy spell he spoke again. “Darius thinks things are going well.”

“I'll wager he does.” She didn't look away from the fountain.

Garen shifted at the wry tone in her voice. “Problem?”

Grimacing, she turned to face him, holding the baton behind her back. “I'm no more eager to be seduced and abandoned than I am to be left at the altar.”

Garen blinked twice, frozen in surprise. She smiled at him, laughing at his discomfiture. “Surely he knows you wouldn't...” He trailed off, not entirely certain as to what Darius would or wouldn't know about his sister's character.

“He doesn't have to _succeed_ , Garen,” she replied, sounding impatient. “He only has to get close enough to _claim_ he did.”

“Oh. And he's been catching you alone a lot.”

“Considering what you almost walked in on him doing to my neck, probably too much.”

“ _What_?” Garen noticed he was standing up. He sat back down before Lux could decide he needed a reminder that she could take care of herself. He couldn't quite eliminate the shock from his voice though. “He was trying to seduce you _right here_?”

She reached up to touch her hair behind one ear, baton swinging from her other hand. “I don't even _know_. Noxian courtship gets physical a lot faster, it could have been simple canoodling.”

On close examination he thought her cheeks were a bit pink. “How physical are we talking here?”

She cleared her throat. “From what I saw in Noxus, there's a lot of kissing, and, and caressing...” She was getting redder with every word. “...and hugging and holding and nuzzling.”

“With or without clothing?” He admitted to himself that she wasn't the only one blushing at this conversation.

Her mouth folded into prim lines. “That depends on the couple, and the situation in question.”

Garen looked at her for a long moment. She didn't get any redder, but only because she couldn't. “My original question was intended to be more specific than general.”

She looked him in the eye to say, “Do you really want me to be that specific?”

He sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Want? No. I already know more than I want about this...” He waved a hand around vaguely. “...incident. But I probably need to know what we're up against.”

She took a stance he recognized from seeing her give personal after-action reports, and fixed her eyes somewhere above and behind him. “He put me on his lap, he wrapped his arms around me, he kissed me on the mouth, face, and neck. His hands touched my knee, shoulder, back, neck, face, and hair. And it was...” Her color had gone down during this speech, but abruptly flared back up. “...very nice feeling.”

Garen took the time to fully regret not wiping the smarmy smile off Darius' face when they passed each other earlier.

After an awkward silence that allowed them both to cool their blushes, she asked, “Well?”

“I'm trying to decide if he was smiling because he's captured an objective, or if he was smiling because he just had a pleasant interlude with his beloved.”

“He compared me to a besieged city, Garen. I don't think the two are mutually exclusive in his mind.” She walked to sit by him, curled over the baton in her lap with chin in hands and elbows on knees. “My judgment is compromised all to hell. This is horrible.”

“You're still spotting hazards, so it can't be that bad.”

“Hindsight doesn't count!”

He slid his arm off the back of the bench to give her a quick side-hug. “Don't talk like it's checkmate when we're still in the opening moves. What has got you so spooked?”

“Garen, if I mess this up I'm going to be alone for the rest of my life. I have every right to be spooked.”

“Wrong.” He held up a hand and started counting on his fingers. “There's Ionia, there's Piltover, Hell, there's even more Noxus if you decide Talon's your cup of tea or something.” He looked at her and grinned. “You just have a thing for Darius.”

“I do not!” She sat up, indignant.

“You want his sex-ay bod-ay” he sing-songed.

“Do not talk to me, Mr. “Half the time I try to flirt I end up shuffling my feet and saying “Demacia!””

“Shut up!” He was blushing. He could tell he was blushing. But at least Lux didn't look like she was about to start spouting lovelorn poetry any more.

“So that's the current situation.” He attempted to get the conversation back on track. “What did you want to meet me about before?”

Her cheeks flared up again and he had a sudden insight. “Oh, man. Was this going to be a “What if he doesn't like me, Garen! Tell me that he likes me!” session?”

She didn't say anything, glaring hard. Garen laughed. “It totally was!” He reached out to muss her hair with both hands.

“Stop it!” She growled, grabbing his wrists.

“Silly girl. He totally likes you. The only problem is keeping him this side of propriety. We can up our chaperon game. How do you feel about spending some quality time with Quinn or Shyvanna?”

“Can't _you_ do it, Garen?” She muttered to her hands.

“What?” Disbelief was clear in his voice. “I'm not a chaperon.”

She looked up at him with earnest eyes. “But you _could_ be! A more traditional chaperon is just going to annoy him. It's not like _Quinn_ or Shyvanna is qualified either. Besides, with _you_ there he'll think you're starting to worry and get all smug and overconfident.” She gave her head a rueful shake. “Honestly, I feel like I need all the advantages I can get.”

Garen sighed. “Fine. Ugh. Whatever. Commence operation: joined at the hip.” He held out a hand for her to slap, and then a fist for her to bump.

She grinned. “Thanks, Garen! I knew I could count on you!”

“Why do I feel like a puppet on your string?”

She pecked him on the cheek. “I have no idea.”

He sighed.


	11. Company: Darius and Lux (also, Garen)

Darius regretted taunting Garen on that garden path. He regretted it with a fiery passion and with a cold dispassion. Not at the same time, of course. Right now it was fiery. Because Lux was _right there_ , but then, _so was Garen_.

He had wanted things to be more secure before Garen got involved. Before he started feeling a creeping sense of dread, before he realized what was going on, before he _took action_. He put some effort into not grinding his teeth.

This garden was so _perfect_ for wooing. The hedges gave privacy and the gravel paths gave warning. There were sunny avenues and cool grottoes. Still... It didn't have to go completely to waste. Having scouted out the area earlier, it was easy to lead them to a larger open tangle of paths. Threading through the low mounded floral displays Garen started to trail behind, fooled by the long sight lines offered in the center.

Darius led Lux back and forth a while before making a sharp turn into a hedge-lined corridor. Knowing it would take Garen only seconds to regain vision at full speed, he immediately swept her into a kiss. She was too shocked to respond before he set her down again with a peck on the nose. “I didn't want you to think I'd forgotten your sweetness.” She blushed furiously.

And indeed, the crunching gravel allowed him to operate with split-second timing, stepping away so that only their hands were touching at the end of fully extended arms when Garen rounded the corner.

“Oh, there you are. I was just asking Lux if this...” He pointed to some sort of naked forest nymph statuary. “Was common in Demacia, but maybe it's more in _your_ line?” Garen's look was both suspicious and disapproving. Darius awarded himself double points.

“ _No_ ,” Garen finally replied, glancing between Darius' toothy smile and Lux's flaming cheeks with a frown.

“Well, maybe it's Ionian.” Darius pulled Lux back to his side, settling her hand on his arm the way he had seen Garen and Jarvan place women they were escorting. “They have fox-spirits, why not... whatever that is.” They both relaxed a little at this placating gesture, and resumed walking.

Once again, Darius soon bored of the surrounding greenery. Lux didn't seem to object to her hand captured on his arm, he wondered what he could do with that. Rearranging the hand covering hers he experimented by running his thumb over her knuckles.

She looked up at him, surprised. He smiled at her, keeping his thumb moving back and forth, gentle and steady. She returned his smile and held his eyes for a long moment. It seemed like a challenge, but her smile was too soft. And when she finally looked away her hand gave his arm a little squeeze, so if it _had_ been a challenge he had passed.

Emboldened by this positive response he outlined her hand with the tip of one finger. Admittedly, her hand wasn't splayed, so he couldn't go between her fingers, but he traced up and down the indentation between. He caught her flashing curious little glances his direction. When he finished the circuit he caressed the whole hand from wrist to fingertip. She looked up at him and smiled.

“You two are awfully quiet,” Garen commented from behind. Darius felt a small physical reaction from Lux, not enough to be called a flinch. Even now she was so controlled! It was very discouraging.

She looked back at her brother. “It's called “companionable silence”, Garen. We don't have to engage in a bunch of senseless chatter to enjoy one another's company.”

“Are you asking me to entertain you, Crownguard?” Darius raised an eyebrow. “I can give you a show, if that's what you _want_.” He put every bit of pent up frustration into that last word and his accompanying smile.

“No, no, no.” Garen put his hands up in surrender. “I was only wondering if we were about to call it a day.” He pointed to the garden gate they were approaching.

“No,” said Darius, and turned down a path going in the opposite direction. Garen sighed. Lux stifled a giggle.

Darius could think of a million ways to pass the time, but thanks to Garen's presence he had to be satisfied with holding her _hand_. It was time to employ his creativity.

First he slid his fingers underneath to tickle her palm. He was gratified by how it made her squirm and blush, but her reproachful looks were accompanied by serious attempts to reclaim her hand, and he had to murmur soft words of apology as he stroked from wrist to fingertip before she relaxed.

It was damnably hard to find touches she wouldn't shy away from. She hadn't been this skittish by the fountain. It had been going so well then! Maybe he should have quit while he was ahead, back when Garen gave him the opening. No! That would have been cowardice.

He ran his thumb back and forth over her knuckles as he thought. Tomorrow they were going riding. He held high hopes for the stables. And if he could arrange the right distraction for Garen... But he needed to concentrate on the here and now.

To vary the theme he started circling each knuckle before passing on to the next. He saw her watch him from the corner of her eye, and even though he couldn't feel any tension he didn't assume there was none there.

Patience wasn't considered one of his more abundant qualities, but he had enough for emergencies. He waited until she stopped watching him, then instead of passing on to the next knuckle after circling he moved his thumb to the join where her fingers met her hand. At once she became watchful.

He rested there, settled into the indentation, before stroking the pad of his thumb up and down the crease. Although she was watching him, she didn't tense or pull away, so he continued. He froze when he felt her shifting her hand, but she was only resettling it, fingers slightly parted. _Yes_. More access.

Even as he began to explore, he couldn't help but laugh on the inside. If anyone had ever told him how glad he would be to have a woman spread her... _fingers_ for him he would have met their insolence with violence. In one way it was maddening, but the challenge was sharpening his appetite to a keen edge, and when the blade went in...

He glanced down to see her studiously looking away, bottom lip caught between her teeth, cheeks flushed. A thrill went through him; oh yes, he felt alive to every edge of his skin.


	12. Complaint: Darius and Draven

Darius closed the door. Draven looked up at the quiet catch of the lock. Of course Draven was home. He was taking an unholy delight in this insane “courtship” Darius was pursuing. He removed his cloak.

Draven smoothed his mustache. “Want to talk about it?”

“Talk? No. Complain? Yes,” Darius snarled, stalking over to his usual seat.

Draven had sense enough not to laugh out loud, but his sparkling eyes gave him away.

They sat in silence, while Darius tapped his fingers and glared off into space. “Garen was there,” he stated abruptly. While this was not precisely a new development, he still hadn't told Draven.

“Oh-ho! Realized the wolf was at the door, did he?”

Darius gave a low growl, which did in fact sound very lupine.

Draven chuckled. “I wish I could have seen his face.”

“It might have been worth it to _you_.”

Draven waited, watching Darius.

“She's still...” Darius raised a hand to catch at the air before giving his empty palm a look of disgust and then clenching it around the chair arm. “She barely abides my touch most of the time. There was the once... But then Garen decided to start following her around. Sometimes...” He thought of her squeezing his arm, and the flush of pleasure on her cheeks. But then he shook his head. “Equally often she would like best to get away from me. Across the room.” His bitter frame of mind thoughtfully provided memories of their first distant meeting over tea.

“But if she's letting you touch her at all, that's very good.” Draven tried to encourage him.

Darius shifted. “I admit it's a step in the right direction, but...”

“No, listen Darius, she's a Demacian.”

“I'm aware of that fact,” Darius cut him off, unwilling to put up with his nonsense right now.

“Are you? This is where you regret not being cosmopolitan in your tastes like Draaaaven.” He smirked.

Darius gave him a cold stare. “What drivel are you spouting now?”

“You've only gone wooing good Noxian girls. Demacians are _different_ , Darius. They skirt along just out of reach until the last moment when they about-face into your arms. She's _already_ letting you touch her, not she's _only now_ letting you touch her.”

Darius' fingers started tapping again, while his other thumb rubbed back and forth along his jaw, his face thoughtful. “So... you're saying I'm further along than I think I am.”

Draven backtracked. “That's one possibility. Her champion profile says she spent time in Noxus, she could be humoring you.” He gave Darius an anxious look.

“Still, it was a strategic error not accounting for her... Demacian timetable.” Darius laughed. “If she finds me as aggressive as I find her elusive no wonder she called in Garen.” His hungry smile made Draven relax and sit back with an answering grin.

Darius tried to replay each skirmish so far from a Demacian perspective, unsure whether he was successful. He shook his head. Enough. “Could you come riding with us tomorrow? I'd like a chaperon for our chaperon.”

Draven blinked. “What?”

“Come be someone for Garen to talk to.”

A sly smile appeared on Draven's face. “Are there any... key points when I should assess his conversational skills?”

“When he's saddling and unsaddling his horse. If he's anything like his sister he'll want to do it himself.”

“And what's in it for me?”

“A ringside seat to this spectacle isn't enough for you?”

Draven laughed. “It's true! I perform for you all the time, but you hardly ever perform for me. It still seems like you're getting more out of this than I am. Add a little something to even things out?”

Darius relaxed back into his seat. “You're not thinking it through. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. How often do I _invite_ you to gather material for mocking me? Your future sister-in-law as well, _plus_ Garen for bonus ridicule.” Draven was openly grinning by this point. “And that's on top of the enjoyment you get from the show itself.”

“Well, when you put it _that_ way...” Draven said with a gleaming smile and a glint in his eye.

Darius swiftly outlined the battleplan, which Draven dubbed “simplistic”, and then he spent the rest of the time dissuading his younger brother from adding artistic flourishes. Finally, putting a hand to his forehead, he said, “Draven, as long as you accomplish the task I set you, you may do so in any way you see fit. But leave _my_ part of the plan to _me_. Changing tactics is only necessary when your original strategy _isn't working_.” He glared at the younger man.

Draven threw up his hands. “Here you have a chance to consult _Draven himself_ on your wooing, and you're throwing it _away_.”

“I refuse to set a precedent that will require me to spend the rest of my relationship following your advice.”

Draven outright laughed at this, leading to a brief tussle that ended with Darius kneeling on Draven's back, blood dripping from his nose down on to Draven's shoulder. “We are doing this _my_ way,” he snarled.

“Fine, fine,” was Draven's muffled response. Sitting up as Darius returned the furniture to a semblance of order, he checked the joints of his arm: shoulder, elbow, wrist. “But you're wasting an opportunity.”

Darius rolled his eyes at Draven's cheerful grin. “So be it.”


	13. Crowd: Darius and sibling, Lux and sibling

The next day they arrived at the stables early to lay the groundwork. When the Demacians arrived to find both Blood Brothers ready to go, and Darius holding Lux's tack, the brief startled look they flashed each other made Darius smile.

“I know you prefer to handle this...” He raised the saddle up a little. “...yourself. But I thought I could at least bring everything out.”

“You expect me to go get mine?” asked Garen, facing Darius but eyeing Draven.

“Nobody gave me a fancy paper about _you_ ,” Draven said with a wink. “But I did send a lackey.” He nodded down the aisle between the stalls where they could see a stable-boy carrying Garen's tack their direction. He looked somewhat dwarfed beneath the Garen-sized saddle.

“Right,” said Garen, and, giving Darius an uneasy glance, hurried to relieve the boy of his burden.

Ignoring Lux's dubious look, Darius hefted the saddle and moved to stand beside her horse's stall. She slipped inside, watching to see if he would try to follow her. He smiled and silently offered her the saddle blanket, which she took, without losing any of her suspicion.

“Why are you even _here_?” Garen grumbled from his own horse's stall.

“Darius wanted to improve the ambiance, Draaaven makes everything better.”

With Darius' assistance Lux finished swiftly, while Garen was still bantering with Draven and casting uneasy glances down to reassure himself Darius hadn't moved out of sight.

“Done?” asked Darius, not whispering, but keeping his voice low.

“Yep,” said Lux, tugging on the girth one last time.

Darius leaned over the half-door to pull her into his arms. She looked up at him over her shoulder, a small, worried pinch between her brows. Darius resisted the urge to kiss her mouth until the worry went away, burying his face in the fall of her hair at her neck, inhaling her scent.

“Mmmm.”

“Darius!”

That was probably a reprimand. Fortunately he was a general of high enough standing that the only reprimands he needed to take heed of came from Jericho Swain. He pulled back to give her a contemptuous look before leaning back in to kiss her, meeting her eyes throughout his slow approach. Anticipation, after all, heightened every experience.

She held her ground, shoulders stiff, eyes wide. He sighed on the inside. For all Draven's protests he wasn't confident her reservations were purely the result of conflicting internal timelines. But when their lips finally met she relaxed, closing her eyes and softening in his grip. Only Garen's presence kept him outside of the door. He still had no idea what was going through her head, but her body told him to soldier on, turning into his embrace while she kissed him back.

Mindful of her Demacian sensibilities he paused to allow her a chance to regroup. This tactic paid off, because given the opportunity to marshal her forces she went on the attack. And a very pleasant attack it was, her hands running over his chest and shoulders, even his upper arms.

He kissed her until they were both breathless. When she broke away to bury her face in his chest he took a peek down toward Draven and Garen. Draven raised a hand in acknowledgment and said, “I keep telling him to hurry up, but he won't listen, Darius!”

Garen looked up from his task to growl at them both.

Darius rolled his eyes and turned back to drop a kiss on the top of Lux's head. Draven was doing a good job, but Garen was almost finished. He brushed her hair back to try and see her face.

She turned to look up at him with a venomous glare. He blinked. What was _that_ about?

“I don't _want_ to _like_ you,” she said with a voice that matched her face, before hiding in his chest again.

A hot knife of satisfaction pierced him at her admission, for admission it was. Victory! He almost laughed, but kept it down to a quiver in his voice when he said, “That's fine.”

She looked up at him, mad as a wildcat. He could feel her hands on his shirt clench into claws. “Oh?” she questioned, eyes narrowing. “Not worried I might kill you in your sleep?”

Yes, she knew what she had revealed. But Darius snorted, looking down in amusement. “You wouldn't do that.” He didn't want to taunt her, but really, who did she think she was fooling?

“Why not?” she spat, wrapped in his arms still.

He leaned in to kiss her on the tip of her nose. She growled as he pulled away. “Because you're a Demacian.”

The anger dropped away from her face leaving a blank expression that was actually more worrisome than the earlier rage.

“I spent time in Noxus, you know,” she said, voice serious. “ Aren't you afraid it rubbed off on me?”

“Hah!” The involuntary laugh burst out, and she cocked her head to look at him, expression unnervingly blank. He reached to touch her lips with two fingers. “You can't fool me, girl. You're Demacian to the core. You'd fight me to the death on the battlefield, but I'll lose no sleep about you killing me in our bed.”

She stared at him, face solemn, body tense and still under his hands. Did she object to his characterization of her?

“I'm a spy, Darius. I can laugh.” Her most luminescent grin bloomed on her lips. “I can cry.” Real tears began to drip from her eyes, even as the smile never left her face. Fascinating. He reached to smear the wetness from her cheeks. “And they said I would never have to spy on _you_ , but I can make no other promises.”

He thought he heard Draven and Garen approaching, but his lips quirked up at this last. “Only a Demacian would _admit_ that.” He shook his head. “Stop trying to scare me away like some cowardly youth. You...”

She hooked her hand behind his neck and pulled him into a kiss. A hungry, greedy, _plundering_ kiss, a kiss that left no doubt in his mind how much she wanted him to touch her.

“Lux!” Garen yelped like the puppy he was.

Darius could imagine the shocked pose Draven had assumed from his voice alone. “Garen! Your sister is taking _shameless_ advantage of Draven's innocent brother! What kind of chaperon _are_ you?”

Darius didn't want to miss the look on Garen's face, but an insistent hand was tangled in his hair, holding him in place. He hurried to look when her grip slackened, and the flabbergasted expression Garen was sporting made him smirk.

“Garen, come back later, I'm busy now.” Lux's response made Darius spare her an amused glance. He didn't know she _had_ a voice of command.

Garen's mouth shut with a click, and he rallied before floundering. “Lux! You can't just... What are you... This is...”

“I'm going to marry your sister, Crownguard.” Garen stopped sputtering and goggled at him. “At this point I don't think you can stop me.” He lifted Lux up over the door so they were no longer separated. “So why don't you run along and leave us to our small celebration.

Garen frowned and crossed his arms. “That's what the _wedding night_ is for.”

“Oh, Garen,” said Lux, sounding exasperated. “Turn your back and count to thirty.”

The siblings stared at one another, exchanging some kind of silent communication. Darius felt a vague desire to know what was being said, but contented himself with stroking his woman's hair and watching. _His_ now.

“Fine!” Garen said at last, throwing his hands in the air and turning around.

“Take Draven with you,” Lux added.

Garen obligingly shoved Draven's shoulder to spin him around, which Draven allowed with one last grin for Darius.

“No peeking,” Garen growled.

“Oh, don't act like the injured party,” Draven mocked. “If she weren't making an honest man out of him Draven would have strong words to say to you about your sister's callous seduction of Draven's pure, sweet sibling.”

Darius heard Lux give a small snort at Draven's comedy routine, then she went up on her toes, pressing against him in a way that made him glad neither of them was wearing their armor so he could feel everything, and kissed him.

After what felt like much less than a count of thirty Garen cleared his throat. “We're turning around now.”

Lux pulled back and Darius sighed, giving Garen a look of distaste.

“What? We still have to go riding!” Garen feigned an earnest expression. At least Darius assumed it was feigned. Not even Garen...

He shook his head. “Right, Garen.”

Lux squeezed his hand, flashing him a small smile before slipping back into the stall to get her horse.

Darius turned back to Garen. “For the record, I plan to lavish your sister with _much_ more attention on our wedding night.”

Garen turned bright red, a guttural growl the only sound his throat seemed willing to produce.


	14. Engagement Party: Jarvan and Garen

Jarvan stalked up to Garen, smarting from Swain's “polite congratulations”. “Why is this a good idea again?” he snarled, low-voiced in an attempt not to be overheard.

“I could write it down for you to look at when you feel a fit of the vapors coming on.” Garen continued looking behind Jarvan, in the direction of Lux and Darius.

Jarvan had stood with his back their direction on purpose, and now he realized it gave Garen cover to surreptitiously watch the couple. “I'm serious, Garen.” Although, in Garen's mellow presence he felt himself beginning to relax.

“So am I.” Garen sipped his wine.

“Garen,” Jarvan warned.

“Apologies, my liege. Ugh. They're doing that thing again.”

Jarvan frowned, and resisted looking over his shoulder. “Do we need to go over there?”

“Not unless you have a strong desire to witness it again.”

“Witness what?” Jarvan knew he sounded testy.

Garen met his eyes for the first time since he arrived. “You really haven't seen them do their thing?”

“What are you even talking about?” Jarvan felt a pang. Had he let his personal distaste for all things Noxian lead him to miss something so obvious in Lux's new relationship out of sheer _avoidance_?

But Garen grinned, acting like nothing was amiss. “Oh, man. I think you're too late for _this_ round, but I can do it for you right here.” He put his wineglass down and put his hands in front of his chest, facing each other like puppets.

“Blah, blah, blah, something Demacian, blah,” said one of the hand-puppets in the high-pitched voice Garen used to imitate his sister.

“Ewww. Demacia is so _gross_. Why are you _sooooo_ Demacian?” the other hand-puppet said in a deeper voice.

“Rawr. Tell me how Demacian I am some more, Tiger,” the Lux-puppet said, moving over to rub against the Darius-puppet.

“I don't know what I'm being rewarded for, but I like it,” the Darius-puppet concluded before turning back into a hand and picking up Garen's wineglass.

Instead of returning Garen's grin, Jarvan sighed. “I think I'm old, Garen.”

“What? Why?”

“I suddenly realized that all the men younger than us are idiots.”

Garen laughed and turned his eyes back to the scene over Jarvan's shoulder. “That's not news, Jarvan.”

“It is to me, old man.”


End file.
